I spent the day with Granddad today. Ever since I was a kid, I had always spent a lot of time with him after school while my parents were working late. Some of my earliest memories are of riding around town in his old car, the seats creaking beneath him as he laughed at his own stories and searched for somewhere to eat. We rarely cooked at home when I stayed with him. Instead, we made a routine out of visiting local buffets where the staff knew him by name and would jokingly point him toward the fresh trays coming out of the kitchen. As a kid, I thought it was the greatest thing in the world — endless food, endless desserts, and hours spent sitting together talking between plates.
One summer, when I was around ten years old, I stayed with him nearly every day. Looking back, that summer changed both of us in different ways. Granddad already weighed close to 300 pounds back then, and his appetite seemed almost legendary to me. He encouraged me to eat just as much as he did, always telling me that a growing boy needed “real meals.” Every afternoon became another trip to a diner, buffet, or barbecue place, followed by evenings snacking in front of the television. By the end of the summer, I had gained almost thirty pounds myself. At the time, neither of us thought much of it. To Granddad, gaining weight was almost a sign of comfort and happiness.
As the years passed, Granddad continued getting bigger. By the time I graduated high school, he was well over 500 pounds, moving slower than he once had and needing extra effort just to get around the house. Despite that, he never lost his sense of humor. After I finished college, he proudly dug through old storage bins and handed me some clothes from what he called his “thinner days.” I remember holding up enormous shirts and pants while he laughed, claiming that one day I would probably outgrow them too. To him, it was almost a family tradition being passed down.
Today, he introduced me to a few of his longtime friends. They were all big men themselves, gathered around the table telling stories while finishing off takeout containers and joking with each other nonstop. The moment Granddad mentioned how much weight I had put on since college, they all started teasing me. One of them laughed and said that within a few years I would probably join their “club of fat men” once I crossed the 300-pound threshold. Everyone burst out laughing, including Granddad, who seemed strangely proud at the idea.
By the end of the visit, even the short walk from the car to the front door left Granddad winded. I helped steady him as we slowly made our way back inside the house. His breathing grew heavier with every few steps, and once we reached the living room, he carefully lowered himself onto the couch with a deep sigh of relief. He sat there catching his breath, one hand resting on his huge stomach while the television played softly in the background. Even seeing how much age and weight had slowed him down, there was still something comforting about being there with him, just like when I was a kid spending afternoons at his side.
